


Scorched

by Destina



Series: Desolation [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-30
Updated: 1999-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While returning to Coruscant with Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon finally gives in to his desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorched

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1999. Posted to AO3 in October 2015.

It seemed, at times, as though he'd been waiting forever, for one thing or another. Waiting to be selected as the Padawan of a Jedi Master. Waiting to achieve a certain kind of calm and serenity within himself. And waiting for his Master to fulfill the promise he'd made with his lips, and his words. Obi-Wan Kenobi seethed and chafed with a dozen rampant emotions as he lay in his bunk on a ship bound for Coruscant. He reflected on his Master's words. 

//In time, young Padawan, I will touch you in any way you desire.// 

It had been four long weeks between that night and this, an agonizing interval which stretched like a white-hot filament at the breaking point. There was heat, and light, but neither he nor his Master dared touch this thing which had blossomed between them, for fear they would be burned. Obi-Wan knew he would not make the first move. He could not. He feared rejection, and worse, the criticism of his Master, something he would not willingly bear. 

These nights aboard ship seemed endless to Obi-Wan without daylight to break the monotony of the darkness. At every portal the view was the same -- stars which shone cold and remote, offering no sanctuary from what blistered within him. He was a fire kindled by his Master, with nothing to extinguish these desires. He agonized, restless, tossing and turning against the staggering weight of his longing. 

Quickly, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and snuggled under the blankets when he sensed his Master's approach. Of late, Qui-Gon had a habit of entering their quarters long after Obi-Wan should have been asleep. Obi-Wan knew the reason for this, and decided to reinforce his Master's decision as best he could. 

Tonight, however, he could not shield his thoughts from his Master. 

The door slid open as his Master strode into sensor range, then closed behind him, obscuring his silhouette. Qui-Gon's subdued breathing seemed to fill the room, and Obi-Wan fought the urge to squirm like a small child. He was inflamed with a wordless need he could never have given voice. His heartbeat quickened, betraying his body, making a liar of him once again. 

"Still awake, Padawan?" The resonant sound of his Master's deep tones seemed to strike straight through to his loins, producing a tremor of raw craving. 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan gave up all pretense and sat up on his bunk, bedding bunched around his hips. He watched his Master intently. "You know I do not sleep well aboard a transport." 

Qui-Gon's back was to his apprentice as he removed his lightsaber from his belt and placed it on low table. "Your body's natural rhythms are disrupted. A strange side effect of space travel, I'm afraid." The words fell too lightly, too easily. Qui-Gon hesitated near the table, his body a coiled spring. 

In that moment, Obi-Wan came to a decision of his own. "Master." Qui-Gon's hands shot out and gripped the edge of the table. Obi-Wan's voice was seductive, tempting, deliberate. "You speak of the body's natural rhythms, yet you ignore what exists between us." 

"Ignore?" The word seemed choked, strained. "It is not possible to ignore you, Padawan. I had hoped...to reach Coruscant before..." Qui-Gon felt his rigid control stretched to the snapping point. 

"Master." The inflection behind the word was Qui-Gon's undoing. Taking a deep breath, he turned to see Obi-Wan's eyes fixed on him, a serious expression on the younger man's face, a mix of love, curiosity and appetite. Obi-Wan swung his legs onto the floor and stood, letting the blankets fall, a pool of scratchy bindings at his feet. 

Qui-Gon caught his breath to see his student's nude form. He was beautiful. Slender, with lean muscles rippling at his sides as he kicked away the blankets. Under his Master's scrutiny, his chest rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes never left the perceptive gaze of his Master. The slight scars left by their most recent enemy were fading rapidly. "I'm healed, Master," Obi-Wan said reassuringly. "And you made me a promise..." 

Qui-Gon felt an intimate, primal need to touch his student, and gave into it without thinking. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he crossed the short distance between himself and his student, and slid his arms around the younger man. Obi-Wan caught his breath at the familiar touch he'd yearned for so desperately, and his arms enfolded his Master without hesitation. There was no time to reverse his decision, as Qui-Gon bent his head and caught Obi-Wan's lower lip between his own, switching to the upper, then the lower lip again, kissing so delicately that Obi-Wan ached to be bruised. 

Qui-Gon's hands traveled every inch of the body he'd learned so well, seen so many times exposed in battle or practice, stroking with delicacy, without finesse, luscious but dark. His touch seemed to pull on his young apprentice's unprepared senses, eliciting gasps and guttural words, emotion without control. Obi-Wan reached blindly to regain command, but Qui-Gon subdued him. "Be still, Padawan," his Master soothed. "There is still so much for you to learn..." 

With infinite care, Qui-Gon ran his hands across his student's torso, feeling Obi-Wan tremble under the gentle touch. His thumbs traced the deep scars where recent wounds were healed by his hands through the Force, then slid upwards, tracing the small dark nipples, alive and aware. Obi-Wan again raised his hands to touch Qui-Gon, but was firmly stopped. He yielded to his Master's superior strength almost without thinking, as he had so many times in training, but this was different...the ripples of power coming from his Master were dangerous, almost exotic, and he was astonished by them. He gave himself over to his Master's will. 

Obi-Wan's skin was acutely sensitive, and he shivered with an overload of sensation, his breath coming in gasps and pants. He breathed his warmth into his Master's waiting mouth, his lips settling and retreating, awkward hesitation and joyful abandon warring within that small space, tongues and teeth sliding at once into new but familiar patterns. So carefully, Qui-Gon pushed his Padawan back onto the bed, his arm catching and supporting their combined weight as they tangled together, a mass of jangled nerve endings and unlocked desires. Obi-Wan tugged at Qui-Gon's cloak, the movement growing more insistent with every passing second, and together they managed to divest his Master of his garments. 

Qui-Gon paused, to capture Obi-Wan's eyes with his own, declaring something so desperately needed that Obi-Wan felt his heart rising. "Master," he murmured, earnestly, implying a thousand shades of significance with the throaty utterance. Qui-Gon was completely destroyed. He bent his head low over the precious body of his student, his lips tracing a velvet path down the torso, to the mass of dark golden curls which nestled just below his hips. 

Obi-Wan cried out as the sharp pangs of ecstasy consumed him, while his Master's mouth drained every objection, tongue swirling and cresting over waves of buoyant joy. His hands flailed and were braced by the strength of his Master's hands, which pressed him down against his muffled objections, as his hips left the cot and he was swallowed in a warm haven of acceptance. His Master's strength flowed into him and around him, as the living Force surged and sparked, and his soft cries of unbearable rapture became his Master's cries where they were molded together as one. 

Teeth raked across defenseless flesh, resulting in a primitive growl of unleashed, heedless wanting. Obi-Wan was finally permitted to raise his hands and he twined them in the silky strands of his Master's hair which fell across his stomach, deadly in their light caress. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's fingers tighten securely around his waist as he roared his affirmation of his love, bucking and lunging toward the hot, tight cavern which welcomed him. 

Qui-Gon pulled his Padawan into his arms and calmed the tremors which coursed through the slender form, transferring his own energy and will into the younger man to still Obi-Wan's clamoring nerves. Obi-Wan nestled his face into Qui-Gon's neck, biting gently there, his eyes closed against a feeling too powerful to be borne, or conveyed with the nakedness of a look. Recognizing his apprentice's vulnerability, Qui-Gon reached down and retrieved one of the discarded blankets, wrapping it around them smoothly. 

"Master," Obi-Wan said with a shudder, as if speaking gave him pain. 

"What is it, Padawan?" Qui-Gon's words were fraught with such tenderness that Obi-Wan could not suppress a surge of devotion. 

"I am truly healed," Obi-Wan said softly, and nestled further into the embrace of his Master, who welcomed him. 

"As am I, Obi-Wan, " Qui-Gon said softly. "Rest now."


End file.
